The Case: Today's subject presents absolutely no challenge in terms of tearing him apart, for he's already done the job himself. Nevertheless, I capitulate to this dreadful week (which has included a very sick child and two funerals) and am inclined to just take the easy way out with a so-called actor who's not even worth this small scrap of cyberspace.

For some time, however, Ashton Kutcher was worthy of the small screen. With his trusty trucker hat in tow, he aimlessly drifted through eight seasons on "That 70s Show," sixty-nine episodes of "Punk'd" (as a Puck-like figure playing pranks on his celebrity friends), and a very short-lived E! series, "Pop Fiction" (essentially an even more obnoxious and self-serving version of "Punk'd" that targeted media and news outlets). In movies, Kutcher's welcome mat rolled out a fat one for Dude, Where's My Car? but quickly toked out with a series of insipid romantic comedies: Just Married; My Boss's Daughter; Guess Who; A Lot Like Love. His few attempts at extending his very limited potential -- The Butterfly Effect and The Guardian -- have failed miserably, so he quickly returned to the stereotypically mindless safety net of the romcom: What Happens in Vegas; Spread; Killers (which bombed so badly that it put Lionsgate's future in jeopardy); Valentine's Day; this weekend's No Strings Attached; and the upcoming New Year's Eve (along with his good friend Bobby De Niro).

To put it simply, Ashton Kutcher is no movie star, and his usefulness as a pretty boy has always been on its last leg, which surely should have crumpled beneath its own cocksure weight around 2007. One thing has kept it going: Twitter. Ridiculous, isn't it?

I have this quarter-baked theory that Kutcher might be the figurative suicide bomber among Hollywood actors. He could exist merely as a handsomely paid undercover agent on the part of the budding film industry in some undisclosed and entirely unassuming small town (Homestead, Iowa, perhaps?). Empowered as such, Kutcher has infiltrated as many film sets as possible to cause the maximum amount of collateral damage whenever his arrogant mug hits the celluloid screen. Theoretically speaking, Ashton's model looks and silicone robot wife are a great cover, and Twitter must be part of the entire ruse as well. Actually, it's all about Twitter at this point.

Look, here's Ashton talking to David Letterman about Twitter:

Then, Ashton explains the intricacies of Twitter to Larry King (he looks like an owl):

Finally, Ashton tells the CBS Early Show about being such a "regular guy" via Twitter:

Prognosis: One day (hopefully soon), movie studios will finally realize that just because Ashton Kutcher's accrued (at present count) 6,233,455 followers who willingly receive his updates (concerning such riveting topics as chest-waxing and daily ass-wiping rituals), it doesn't mean that even a small percentage of them will buy tickets to see his inane movies. At that point, it will be a clear-cut case of #getthehelloutstonerboy.

Agent Bedhead lives in Tulsa, Oklahoma. She and her little black heart can be found at agentbedhead.com.